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Mike & Millie / Peach: Chapter 7 (of 7)
🕑 Added 2025-12-07 19:55:52 +0000 UTCPete jumped, and Millie laughed while his half-hard penis scattered urine in a wild zig-zag, spraying up in the air and left and right.
“You scared the shit out of me,” he said, relaxing.
“You don’t mind if I hold it while you tinkle?”
Pete said he didn’t, and she explained, “I hold Mike’s all the time if we’re in the bathroom together, and he needs to pee. I can feel the urine rumbling through it.”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t you feel it when you hold it?”
“I guess,” Pete said, eyes turned down to watch this crazy girl’s pretty hand cradling his hefty dong.
She said, “I just like holding a man’s dick while he pees. Especially after sex, when it’s still all beefed up like yours is.” She held Pete’s penis cradled in two fingers, thumb up top. He wasn’t soft yet, and a dick like that was fun to play with. She wiggled it and waggled it, made the pee spritz and dance. Then she said, “You’re getting thicker.”
“You’re holding it for me.”
She said, “Think of baseball or something. This isn’t for you, it’s for me.” His cock looked sexy hanging out the front of his uniform pants. “Or if Mike isn’t looking, maybe you and I’ll run into the bushes for some more fun.”
“You really never stop?”
She laughed and watched his urine stream begin to fade. She said, “Why stop when you’re having so much fun?”
“Sometimes you gotta rest, I guess.”
“Not me,” she said. “I guess a guy can run out of juice, if you know what I’m saying.”
Pete closed his eyes and drew a deep inhale while she squeezed the last drops out of his pecker, working from base to glans in squeezing stretches. When she figured he was dry, she shook it around and beat it side to side against his pants, then pushed it back through his fly, tucked it into his underwear, snugged it up, then drew the zipper closed. She patted his bulge. “You ran out of juice?”
“If I wasn’t on my break, I could do a lot better.”
She chuckled and stepped back, crossing her arms and admiring this short cop with the nice eyes and the hefty dick; a nice guy in a wild position today.
She said, “With those big balls I thought for sure you were going to shoot a half gallon all over the Barracuda.”
“Sometimes I do,” he said and chuckled in a way that made her think of high school.
“Oh, I see,” she said. “So, sometimes you shoot a firehose load. Were you jerking off in your cruiser overnight?”
“No. No, I wasn’t.”
“You can tell me. There’s no shame.”
Pete grunted. “I’d tell you if it was true.”
“Well, if you were going to jerk it, now you don’t need to.”
“You certainly took care of me.”
She smiled. “I’m good at what I do.”
Pete’s smile matched hers and it was a nice moment. Until Mike’s smile faded. She asked him what was wrong.
“Do you have a, uh, a syndrome or something?”
“What do you mean? Because of my sex drive? How rude.” She put on a cute mask of meanness to let him know she was only kidding.
“It’s just Mike made it sound like this is an ongoing problem or something.”
“Mike exaggerates. It’s not a problem. There’s nothing wrong with me. Now, my daddy would say otherwise, and that’s why I left home, but . . . ”
Mike regarded her more seriously. “I don’t think there’s a single thing wrong with you.”
“Thanks, Pete. I just like sex. A lot. It feels so amazing. It’s fun. I think my lady parts were made a little extra-sensitive is all.”
“Mike’s not enough for you?”
“Mike’s my world, Officer Pete. He’s everything.”
“He’s a lucky guy.”
“Believe me: Mike knows it. But I’m lucky, too.”
“I gotta get back on the road, Millie, but . . . you let me know you’re coming through again, and I’ll make sure I show you what I can do.”
“I bet you would,” she said, narrowing her eyes and swaying her hips.
“We don’t have to do it out in the open. I’ve got a house . . . “
“With a bedroom,” she said and winked.
He started toward his cruiser, knowing he didn’t have the best game when it came to dirty talk. He was timid and unsure of himself—though he didn’t need to be. It was kind of a sweet combination. He turned back and looked at her, then over at the Barracuda, and at Mike getting into the driver seat, Mike relieved he didn’t have to trot over and escort his wife back to the car and leave this poor cop’s dick alone. It was like Pete was memorializing this strange event that had occurred in his life, the best thing that ever happened to him coming out of the blue.
He said, “You guys just a couple of rich kids out enjoying the road?”
“We’re not rich kids, Officer Pete. But we did come into some money.”
“Oh wow,” Pete said, raising his brows. “Like an inheritance?”
“It’s a long story. Maybe I’ll tell it to you, if we come through this part of your lovely state again.”
#
The Hemi grumbled to life, heat-soaked and irritated, the starter dragging for two slow cranks before the engine caught with a thick, chest-deep whomp. The idle settled into that heavy lope now, warmed through, smelling of fuel vapor and hot oil. Heat shimmered off the shaker hood. Even the shifter was warm when he wrapped his hand around the Pistol Grip. A warm Hemi was sharper, meaner. Dangerous. Southern summer sun only made it angrier. He’d woken it from a nap it was enjoying. The passenger door opened and Millie hopped in, plunked herself down on the hot vinyl seat next to him.
He said, “You all good?”
She gave him a surly (but cute) look, meaning he knew very well how she wasn’t good. She lifted her drink from where she’d squeezed the plastic bottle in between seat and console. She twisted off the cap and took a long swig of her peach Nehi, swished it around and leaned out the gap in the open door and spat it out. She sat back, closed the door and this time when she tipped it up and drank, she swallowed.
He drew the shifter into neutral and gave the throttle a quick snap, just. The engine snarled a hard, metallic bark that rolled the whole chassis on its mounts. The shaker hood twitched sideways, then settled, vibrating in place like it was straining against a leash.
Millie’s head thrashed forward and he covered her mouth like she was going to spurt Nehi everywhere. She showed him her wild eyes, shot wide.
He goosed the pedal again and the motor roared.
Millie swallowed what she had in her mouth and arched her back, forcing her pussy into the rumbling vinyl seat.
He gave her some gas. She loved it.
Each stab of the gas twisted the car slightly to the right, the torque yanking the frame, making the driver’s door creak just a little on its hinge. The mirrors blurred with thunderous vibration. The steering wheel trembled under his hand. The rearview quivered.
Millie’s long thighs bowed in and out as she got off on the car’s thundering power, her laughing face turned up to the sky.
The idle fell back into that heavy, uneven lope—but the whole car was awake now, shuddering with the leftover pulses. He gave it one more rev—longer this time. Held it at two, maybe three grand. The vibration deepened, thrumming up through the seats, into his own spine, a bone-level buzz that felt like standing near a freight train.
Millie’s lips parted as she reveled in what the Barracuda could do to her. Hot exhaust kicked against the pavement behind them, coughing out sharp fuel smell. Millie rocked and laughed, riding out the good feelings.
He let the throttle drop. The engine fell back to its lumpy idle, shaking with that slow, angry heartbeat.
“Oh my god, I love this car,” Millie laughed in a long exhale.
Mike moved his hand from the Hurst onto Millie’s knee. She jumped at his touch like she was ticklish. He stroked the flesh of her inner thigh and she looked like she would faint.
He put his hand back on the shifter, laughing to himself at his wife’s sexual agony. Millie brought her legs together and flexed them, her whole body tightening, biting her own lips and snuffling laughter through her nostrils.
He said, “You’re just going to edge yourself until we get to the resort.”
Millie groaned, stretching her back, trying to relax. Her legs parted and she cupped a hand over her crotch, squeezing herself through the cut-offs. “How far?”
“About four hours,” he said.
She groaned. Then something occurred to her. She said, “We have to stop for condoms, okay?”
“I don’t plan on getting pulled over again, Millie,” he said.
“We’re stopping for condoms, though.”
“Yeah-yeah. When we get gas.”
He watched in the rearview as Pete’s cruiser pulled forward, looped around to head out. He lifted his hand to wave. Millie turned in her seat and showed a theatrical farewell that Mike was sure Pete loved. She sat back down, her hand going between her thighs again. She said, “He wanted to know where we got the money.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Nothing.”
He smiled at her profile and she turned her beautiful face to regard him. “What?”
“Did you have fun?”
She didn’t look away, stayed connected. She blubbered her lips, exhaling. “Yeah. Did you?”
“Best thing I’ve ever seen.”
They just smiled at each other. Nothing had to be said. He didn’t regret their choices. He loved them, as wild as they might seem. Watching Millie get down with another man sparked little jealousy. Nothing he couldn’t handle. He loved watching her. He loved watching her get what she needed. Today was the first step in their sexual journey, and they’d come out of it pretty good. Millie got crazy and Mike kept her in bounds for her own safety. They’d had great sex with a pretty good guy.
He said, “I’ll stop for condoms before we get gas.”
She cupped his cheek and told him she loved him, and he told her the same back.
Then he wrenched the stubborn wheel left, hard, and mashed the clutch, snapping the shifter into second before the tires even finished thinking about grip. The back end let go—exactly the way he wanted it to—gravel exploding in a white arc as the big Hemi roared awake. The car swung around in a perfect, stupid, glorious 180, the nose pointing the opposite way in the space of a heartbeat. Dust rose around them like smoke.
Millie’s gasp—God, he felt that in his chest. Felt the thrill run through her, and then into him.
Before the dust even settled, he feathered the throttle, then gave the engine a real push. The ’Cuda leapt forward, all torque and fury, the collapsed top rattling behind them as the rear tires clawed for traction. A spray of gravel chased them down Officer Pete’s secret break road. The steering wheel trembled under his hands, alive, eager, dangerous. Millie grabbed his arm and cheered.
He kept on the throttle a second longer than he should’ve, just to hear Millie squeal again.
Comments
Bill F Protagoras
The 'problem' people have who keep on writing and publishing new stories is in this case called inspiration! Only people who actually 'do' care could care less... which is obviously KT's case... Maybe I'm wrong (but 'I' couldn't care less) yet it seems unnecessarily hurtful to draw a merely speculative damning conclusion about a person who in another breath one has professed to admire. I offer these thoughts only as a stickler for logic... when it suits me! Also the implication that those readers who keep following and admiring KT are fools I take as a personal sleight... though I would be proud to be mistaken for a historical professional fool.
Lorie Barnes
You have so many unfinished stories, but keep adding a new one. What is your problem? Think all your readers are that stupid just to keep following you. Guess you have noticed how the reader comments have gone down. You are an incredible writer, but could care less about your readers.
Donkatsu
And that wonderful odor of unburned gasoline.
KT Morrison
Love it!
Bill F Protagoras
Everyone is getting off on riding Hemies lately... Millie is all revved up to jump the bucking shark... her wish is Pete's desire... Complete with an anthropomorphised vehicle... as though timely spurted cheerfully out of the nib of Crumb's ever ready pen. The devilry is in the minutiae of the details...
